This was originally posted here in the Folk Den on December 1st, 1996. I’m on the road right now with Chris Hillman, Marty Stuart and his Fabulous Superlatives to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” album. I hope you enjoy this Christmas carol from twenty two years ago.

(Lyrics 18?? by William Chatterton Dix, to the melody of 'Greensleeves')

Lyrics:

Em D

What child is this, who, laid to rest,

C B7

On Mary's lap is sleeping?

Em D

Whom angels greet with anthems sweet

C B7 Em

While shepherds watch are keeping.

G D

cho: This, this is Christ the King,

C Bm

Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:

G D

Haste, haste, to bring him laud

C B7 Em

The Babe, the Son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christian, fear; for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.

So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh
Come, peasant, King to own Him;
The King of Kings salvation brings
Let loving hearts enthrone him.

Special thanks to Bruce Kula for 12-string guitar accompaniment.
Merry Christmas 2018 All the best ….. Roger

“The Foggy Foggy Dew” is an English folk song describing the outcome of an affair between a weaver and a young lady he courted. Burl Ives made a version of it popular in the 1940s. He spent the night in jail for singing it in Mona, Utah where authorities deemed it a bawdy song.
It is No.558 in the Roud Folk Song Index.

Lyrics:
[G] When I was a [Am] bachelor, I liv’d all alone
[D] I worked at the weaver’s [G] trade
And the only, only thing that [Am] I ever did wrong
[D] Was to woo a fair young [G] maid.
[D] I wooed her in the [G] wintertime
[D] And in the summer, [G] too
And the only, only [Em] thing that I [Am] did that was wrong
Was to [D] keep her from the foggy, foggy [G] dew.

One night she came to my bedside
When I was fast asleep.
She laid her head upon my bed
And she began to weep.
She sighed, she cried, she damn near died
She said what shall I do?
So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head
Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew.

So, I am a bachelor, I live with my son
And we work at the weaver’s trade.
And every single time that I look into his eyes
He reminds me of that fair young maid.
He reminds me of the wintertime
And of the summer, too,
And of the many, many times that I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy, dew.

“The Lone Fish Ball” is based on a true adventure. Harvard professor George Martin Lane (1823-1897) arriving in Boston after a journey, found himself hungry and had only 25 cents in his pocket. He needed to reserve half that money to pay his carfare to Cambridge. With the remaining 12 cents he entered a restaurant and ordered the least expensive item on the menu. It happened to be macaroni but over the years it was changed to one fish ball, a favorite breakfast food of Harvard undergraduates. The song remained popular with them for decades.

During the Civil War, several of Lane’s professorial colleagues turned his song into a fundraiser for Union soldiers. Folklorist Francis James Child ’46, LL.D. ’84, worked it up into a mock Italian operetta, Il Pesceballo, which was performed in Cambridge and Boston.

In 1944 Hy Zaret and Lou Singer revamped the song as a blues calling it “One Meatball.” It was a big hit for Josh White! The Andrews Sisters and Bing Crosby also recorded it.

I have written an new melody and added lyrics.

Lyrics:
The Lone Fish Ball

[G]There was a man went up and down,
[C]To seek a dinner thro’ the [Am] town. X2 [D] Hurray!

[C]What wretch is he who wife forsakes,
[D] Who best of jam and waffles makes! X2 They say

[G]He feels his cash to know his pence,
[C] And finds he has just but [Am] six cents. X2 [D] To pay

[C]He finds at last a right cheap place,
[D] He enters in with modest face. X2 Anyway

[G]The bill of fare he searches through,
[C] To see what his [Am] six cents will do. X2 [D] Today

[C]The cheapest viand of them all,
[D] Is “Twelve cents for two Fish-balls.” X2 everyday

[G] The wee birdies [Em] sing and the [Am] wild flow’rs [C] spring,
[G] And in sunshine the [Em] waters are [C] sleepin’; [D]
[Em] But the broken heart it [Am] kens no second [C] spring,
[G] Tho’ the woeful may [Em] cease from their [D] greetin’ [G]

Lyrics:
CAPO on 3rd fret
[Em] Was down in the valleys, the [D] valleys so [Em] deep,
To pick some plain roses to keep my [D] love [Em] sweet.
[G] So let it come early, [D] late or [Em] soon,
I will enjoy my [D] rose in [Em] June.
[G] rose in June, [D] rose in [Em] June
I will enjoy my [D] rose in [Em] June.

O, the roses red, the violets blue,
Carnations sweet, love and so are you,
So let it come early, late or soon,
I will enjoy my rose in June.
rose in June, rose in June
I will enjoy my rose in June.

O love, I will carry thy sweet milking pail,
O love, I will kiss you on every stile
So let it come early, late or soon,
I will enjoy my rose in June.
rose in June, rose in June
I will enjoy my rose in June.

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I was hoping to find a nice Spring song for May. Camilla was helping me do research and she came across this. It turns out to be one of the top 100 cowboy songs of all time and I had never heard it. I recorded it in a big hotel while looking across the Hudson River at New York City.

Lyrics:
[D] In a lobby of a big hotel in [Em] New York town one day,
[G] Sat a bunch of fellows [A] telling yarns to pass the time away.
[D] They told of places where they’d been [Em] and all the sights they’d seen,
[G] And some of them praised [A] Chicago town and others [D] New Orleans.

[D] I can see the cattle grazing o’er the [G] hills at early morn;
[D] I can see the camp-fires smoking at the [A] breaking of the dawn,
[D] I can hear the broncos neighing I can [G] hear the cowboys sing;
[D] Oh I’d like to be in Texas for the [A] round-up in the [D] spring.

In a corner in an old arm chair sat a man whose hair was gray,
He had listened to them longingly, to what they had to say.
They asked him where he’d like to be and his clear old voice did ring:
“I’d like to be in Texas for the round-up in the spring.

I can see the cattle grazing o’er the hills at early morn;
I can see the camp-fires smoking at the breaking of the dawn,
I can hear the broncos neighing I can hear the cowboys sing;
Oh I’d like to be in Texas for the round-up in the spring.

They all sat still and listened to each word he had to say;
They knew the old man sitting there had been young in his day.
They asked him for a story of his life out on the plains,
He slowly then removed his hat and quietly began:

“Oh, I’ve seen them stampede o’er the hills, when you’d think they’d never stop,
I’ve seen them run for miles and miles until their leader dropped,
I was foreman on a cow ranch—that’s the calling of a king;
I’d like to be in Texas for the round-up in the spring.”

I can see the cattle grazing o’er the hills at early morn;
I can see the camp-fires smoking at the breaking of the dawn,
I can hear the broncos neighing I can hear the cowboys sing;
Oh I’d like to be in Texas for the round-up in the spring.
I can hear the broncos neighing I can hear the cowboys sing;
Oh I’d like to be in Texas for the round-up in the spring.

Lyrics:
[Dm] Well there ain’t nobody gonna turn us around
[A] Turn us around
[Dm]Turn us around
Well there ain’t nobody gonna turn us around
We’re gonna [G] keep on a-walking Lord
[Dm] Keep on a-talking Lord
[G] Walking up to [A] Calvary [Dm]

Well there ain’t no sinner gonna turn us around
Turn us around
Turn us around
Well there ain’t no sinner gonna turn us around
We’re gonna keep on a-walking Lord
Keep on a-talking Lord
Walking up to Calvary

Ain’t no unbeliver gonna turn us around
Turn us around
Turn us around
Ain’t no unbeliver gonna turn us around
We’re gonna keep on a-walking Lord
Keep on a-talking Lord
Walking up to Calvary

Well there ain’t no demon gonna turn us around
Turn us around
Turn us around
Well there ain’t no demon gonna turn us around
We’re gonna keep on a-walking Lord
Keep on a-talking Lord
Walking up to Calvary

Well there ain’t no devil gonna turn us around
Turn us around
Turn us around
Well there ain’t no devil gonna turn us around
We’re gonna keep on a-walking Lord
Keep on a-talking Lord
Walking up to Calvary

There ain’t nobody gonna turn us around
Turn us around
Turn us around
Well there ain’t nobody gonna turn us around
We’re gonna keep on a-walking Lord
Keep on a-talking Lord
Walking up to Calvary

It’s hard to imagine a song about the “ABC’s” without the tune to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” The song only uses eight of the letters of the alphabet. But that’s how I learned it from the John Quincy Wolf Collection OZARK FOLKSONGS. You can listen to the original version there. Not sure if there were verses for the rest of the letters and the guy just forgot them or that’s all they had to say. In any case I modulated keys on this to make it more musically interesting.

Lyrics:

[A] Oh, A was an archer,
And he shot a big frog.

[E] B was a butcher,
And he had a big [A] dog.

[A] And C was a carpenter
All covered with lace,

[E] And D was a drunkard,
And he had a red [A] face.

[D] Oh, E was a squire (Maybe that was originally Esquire)
With pride on his brow.